


All Bottled Up

by Nebulaeyedfish



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Grief, Hobbies, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Romantic if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22303084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulaeyedfish/pseuds/Nebulaeyedfish
Summary: It's been a long and difficult day- the shapeshifter is dealt with, but Ned is gone and Minerva's on earth, meaning she needs somewhere to stay. While Duck sorts her out with a place to sleep, she takes the opportunity to examine his spare room, and discovers one of his hidden talents.(Or, Minerva is fascinated by the mundane and complex alike, Duck has a hobby and a good cry, and Beacon won't ever stop ruining the moment.)
Relationships: Duck Newton & Beacon, Duck Newton & Minerva
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	All Bottled Up

**Author's Note:**

> Duck is a man of many talents, and while everyone talks about his skateboarding, cross fit and trombone, no one talks about the fact that he'd rather stay at home and make model ships than save the world, and I think that's a shame.

This room was smaller than any of the others that Minerva had seen so far. Shelves lined its dark paneled walls, filled almost entirely with unfamiliar objects. They arched suddenly to make room for a wooden desk, its surface scattered with tools. In one corner, clothes were slung over a rack, a basket below them. They were, she noted, predominantly dull shades of green or beige. The air smelt lightly of strange flowers, but beneath its light notes, there was something dusty, with hints of wood. It was a strange combination, but not an altogether unpleasant one. It smelt of time, Minerva thought, but not in the way that the empty echoing halls of her home did. It smelt as if someone spent a lot of time in the room. For a ‘spare’ room, it seemed often used.

Duck’s weight shifted as he leant against the door frame. She looked over at him.

“I’ll go grab the camp bed for you,” he told her, “alright? Set up a place for you. Just ‘till we can figure out a more permanent solution. Uh.” he scratched his neck, thinking for a moment. “Can’t remember exactly where I put it. Don’t get it outta storage much y’know? While I go find it, feel free to, I dunno, familiarize yourself with the room. Get to know it. I’ll be back soon.” Nodding, she turned to do just that.

“Of course, Duck. Good luck on your search! It will be nice to get some rest after the events of today.” 

“Yeah. God knows I need some too. I’ll try be quick.”

On examining the rack, she found the clothes were the source of the strange smell, and were predominantly the loose shirts he wore in the forest; the remainder being simple and short sleeved, with a few faded prints on their fronts. She had been surprised to find them slightly damp to the touch- she hadn’t realised clothes could be washed and dried inside on Earth, though it was obviously done differently to on ‘5. Soon bored with Duck’s laundry, she inspected the desk framed against the wall. The smell of sawdust was stronger here, and she could see little piles of the stuff brushed across the top, caught in the crack between the surface and a green and white mat that took center stage. Against the wall stood several glass bottles, perfectly spaced, like soldiers at attention. Looking around, Minerva realised that many more of the same sort lay horizontal on the shelves, each with an intricate ship, miniaturized, inside of it. 

Setting down the bottle she’d been examining, she moved to look closer at the flotilla. By each bottle, there was a small piece of card and a date, with the most recent- a beautiful triple masked ship with golden gravel around its base- dated to the week before, and the oldest - a simple, shakey looking boat- dated to not long after she had finally given up convincing Duck of his importance. As she looked from boat to boat she realised that as time went on he became rather more adventurous in his modeling. In among his plain, serviceable ships were extraordinary ones. Elaborate ships painted all sorts of eye catching colours, shipwrecks, complete with debry and flames, royal barges, cruise ships- there were too many to count. 

Her eyes lingered on one ship in particular. It was clearly a warship of some kind, and even at a minute scale it was imposing. However, what drew her to it was it’s colouring- Duck had painted it a familiar electric blue and given it sails of pure white. The date was attributed to the same month she had returned, and he’d finally, if grudgingly, accepted his destiny. It wasn’t alone- among the most recent was a twin, almost identical if not for the gold patterns that ran around its side and the black sales that flew from the mast. She looked away. It sent a twinge of sadness down her spine to think of how her friend must have felt as she had desperately tried to stay alive on ‘5. There were others, too, from around the first date- A small, flashy looking boat done in red and yellow with sails that burst with personality with a little white row boat following in its wake, a streamlined warship done in red and grey with a metallic finish, storming through a troubled sea, a sturdy research vessel, done in autumnal hues. For some reason, though, she found herself drawn to a large purple and black pirate ship. It was outrageous, flamboyant- far more so than any other she had seen. Golden detailing popped on its details, and the largest sail was inexpertly embroidered with a patch advertising the ‘Cryptonomica’. Gently, Minerva lifted it off the shelf, marveling at its delicacy compared to her large, alien hands. She lifted it up closer, admiring it deeply, in awe at her pupil’s hidden talent.

“Alright, I finally found the fuckin’ thing-” seeing the bottle in her hands as he walked in, Duck froze. “Hey!” he snapped. “Don’t fucking touch that!” She started at his tone, spinning round to face him, dropping the bottle in surprise. For a horrible moment, she fumbled for it, clumsy in her shock, before it fell, shattering on the ground. Duck jolted, stumbling backwards as if he’d been stabbed. No, she realised. Not stabbed. Shot. As if he’d seen someone else get shot. 

He walked over, slowly, as if in a daze, and silently knelt down, hands hovering over the shards of wood and glass as if he thought they’d rear up and bite if he got too close. 

“Duck Newton, I-”

“It’s fine, Minerva.” He didn’t look fine. “It’s fine. It’s just. Wood and glass. I’ll clear it up and make another. It’s fine. It’s fine. I just need to….” his mantra trailed off, and he rocked back until he was sat on the floor, head in hands. He was trembling slightly. “I gotta make a new one for him any how, it’s-”

“Duck Newton.” Minerva cut him off, dropping down to his level, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t say it’s fine. I am sorry, my friend. It was not my intention to break something so clearly precious to you. Particularly not on a night like tonight. If I may, I will attempt to assist in clearing-”

“It’s not about the damn ship, Minerva.” He sounded tired, exhausted, more so than she’d ever heard before. It was frightening, and very little frightened her any more. “Well, I guess it kinda is. That was… it was Ned’s ship.” Oh. “He was the one who….” he trailed off again. Minerva pulled him towards her, surrounding him in a hug.

“I know, my friend,” she murmured. “I know it is difficult, losing a fellow warrior. Even more so when that warrior is also a close friend. I understand.” She could feel him now, shaking in her embrace. “It is alright to cry, Duck Newton,” she reminded him. “It is as true warriors do, and as true friends do. It is alright to mourn. This is alright.”

In her firm hold, he relaxed- just a little- and released. She held him, rubbing small circles in to his warm back as his body spasmed with emotion. Despite herself, she felt awkward, almost like an intruder in Duck’s most private moment. She had never met Ned, who had fallen so tragically, though she knew of him, and how much he had meant to her friend. But Duck needed her, this was his catharsis, his honest proclamation of his grief and love for his friend, and his full, real understanding of the threat that he was facing, all wrapped up in body wracking, choking sobs. As tremors rippled through her ward, her _friend’s_ body, Minerva made her presence known, muttering encouraging words to him. 

After what felt like hours, Duck pulled back, and Minerva allowed her arms to drop to her sides again. He scrubbed at his eyes to obliterate his final tears, avoiding looking her in the eye. 

“‘M sorry,” he muttered, “That was, uh, that was a lot. But. uh, thanks.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Duck, the regret is all mine.” She followed his gaze to the fragments surrounding them on the floor. 

“It’s alright, you know- or, well,” he sighed, “it’s not alright, basically _nothing_ that fuckin’ happened tonight can be called ‘alright’, ‘cept from you gettin’ here. But like. I will make another one. I would have anyway. It’s just one a those things I do,”he admitted. “Always make ‘em a funeral ship. Helps me remember friends.” Minerva paused, picking her next words with unusual care.

“And me? I saw… I saw the warships, Duck.”

“Heh, yeah…” their eyes locked and Minerva was hit by a jolt of surprise as she realised just how much he actually cared. “What?” he said. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t miss you when I thought you were dead? Jesus.... Look, Minnie. I know I’ve not been a great friend, over the years, if you could call me one at all. But… this last year? I think of you as a friend, Minerva. I was scared for you! I wasn’t just- just all depressed an’ shit ‘cause I lost the damn powers! I genuinely thought I’d lost you- and asshole that he is, Beacon, too, cause without you, he didn’t say fuckin’ anything for like two weeks. Bastard's grown on me, you know. And hell, if I go two hours without him makin’ some shitty comment i’d be concerned. . I really thought you’d both gone. An’ I missed you.”

“Duck Newton, I…” 

“Well, _Duck_ , I for one am glad that my voice was so sorely missed.” Duck jumped, and looked down at Beacon, coiled around his waist still.

“Aw, shit, I forgot I hadn't taken you off-”

“I’m touched to know you care-”

“Beacon, Please-”

“I’m sure I can make up for lost comments, if it really bothered you that much.” Duck groaned halfheartedly

“I take back every nice thing I just said about you.”

“You-” 

The ringing of the phone in the hall interrupted their bickering, and Duck stood up. 

“Lemme just get that. I’ll clean up in bit.”

Minerva found herself alone. She was… surprised, once again, by Duck, and again in a way that, on reflection, should have been obvious. Hadn’t the last time he’d surprised her been with his kindness and forgiveness to his enemies? She was just… unprepared to have it extended to her, inside. Sighing, she started picking up the pieces of the ship, depositing them in a pile on the desk. 

“Oh, fuck... yeah” Duck was saying in the hall. “Yeah, you’re right... Yeah, no, I got room. Probably.” there was a pause. “Wait- all of them? Shit, man. I dunno if I can fit all of you… No, I understand. I’ll ask Leo and Mrs Pearsons if they’ve got room. We’ll sort something. And, yeah, I can take her for the night. We’ll get the rest sorted tomorrow. Yeah. yep....” there was more affirmation, until Duck finally hung up.

“That was Barclay." he told her, reentering the room. "Aubrey’s gonna be living here too, she’s coming over now. Can’t stay at the lodge.” he sighed. “We gotta get that whole mess sorted too, but for now its just her.” He looked around at the room, raking his fingers through his hair. “We’ll make it work somehow. For now, though, we gotta get this fuckin’ camp bed sorted…”

**Author's Note:**

> (Not pictured: Duck fighting with the camp bed for 10 minuets to get it out of storage, and then 10 more to get it set up.)


End file.
